Recorded Box
by Whispers To Kill
Summary: The piano keys started soft, her hands shifting lightly, eyes fluttering as her body gently swayed like the palms of a tree and chimes in the wind; the sun shone with a breeze the was strong as an angel's hum. Fem!Austria Rosalie XFem!Iceland Emelía.


Music is an acclaimed science; unfortunately, it is not a self-acclaimed science for it is a passion, and passion has never sought to have her threads pulled apart by the sharp prick of a needle - passion has always preferred to be sewn together with the strings of heart (no matter the color and strength of the heart), as passion is always willing to assist in the creation of a pure gold soul, stung from the unbreakable, silken web of spider strings. Gracefully, music was never required to have to announce itself a passion; quite obviously, when one is to walk into such a barrier of graceful sound, they will have no question as to weather it or is not; simply wide eyes shall appear as they become cloaked in the finest gowns of her sound.

The barrier Emelía had sunk into was unquestionably more than passion, it was as if the air had made love and borne a new gift from god to those who were so blessed to encounter the masterpiece. And, oh!, how gorgeous was this goddess at the keys that these beautiful notes could whip from such gentle fingertips with the force of all the worlds winds - be these winds a caressing breeze of a storms lashing current.

It may seem crude to compare a lady's hair to dirt, yet for this particular woman, her locks swayed quite as gorgeous as the brown soil swirling under clear flowing streams. How had soil become such a curse, anyhow, when it is the bearer of Amaryllis flowers and fruits; is it really so rude to be called the mother or beauty and grace? Such brown rivulets fit her as the mother of magnificence! To gaze in her eyes one met the most vibrant violet; they never quite seemed to dim - like the mystic auras of a fairy or the flutter of the galaxies, they shone bright and sharp as a cat's, in a lavender purple paradise (though she was not quite as peaceful). Her lips were usually like the thin pink lines of a notebook paper and her skin was that of a rich child's porcelain dolls; the type that sit in little toy chairs and pretty Victorian dresses of window toy shops. Like a small crystal button was the mole on her chin, the diamond of a ring.

Adorned in a fine purple dress of long layers and ruffles, it was modest, but gorgeous as the petals of an iris; perfectly fit upon her arms, the cuffs were folded as elegantly as horse racers; the gown clung to her breast and flowed to her stomach, before the bell fell lose in a small girls folded dress - elegant and pure as scented vanilla. Purple is such a fine fitting color for this girl - a deep shaded plum, it was mild, yet sweet, and the color of royalty who sat on golden red thrones, as shaped as sharp as her tongue.

And now... Now was the summit of her beauty, for she was raveled in her most marvelous love - one the threw her to the ground and taught her to stare into the eyes of Heaven's soul. How gifted, Emelía felt, to lay witness to such adoration as Rosalie left the world for the one she understood.

The piano keys started soft, her hands shifting lightly, eyes fluttering as her body gently swayed like the palms of a tree and chimes in the wind; the sun shone with a breeze the was strong as an angel's hum. Skipping stones across the lake as the sky turned colors to the waves, low eyelids continued through each note that plucked the minds emotion, making one question what they were feeling and thinking. Listening to such a tune one struggled to comprehend the feelings of the language of old.

As if one viewed the world from the eyes of a garden ant, the notes crashed to the ground in life giving raindrops; they slid from the leaves and plummeted from the petals, flooding the root and creating liquid crystals upon roses!

Sudden like a change of scenery, it all dimmed again to a single match being lit for a single library candles light. What a playful and mischievous flame that candle bore, for it seemed that as she continued to play, the candle light spread throughout the library in a twirling, twisting waltz. Rosalie's body swayed like ocean waves - powerful and graceful, her lips opening and closing, eyes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly - she was a lily pad gliding across the willow tree's pond, fishing for a minnow.

Then, everything seemed to zoom forward: the candle flame burst forth and leaped from the wick to tear across the books, alighting everything in a bright grey glow of neon chemicals. It danced across the knowledge and the art of words, destroying the height of the purpose of language, as everything returned to the primeval beginnings of ashes; the library of life was torn to the ground and drank by the sea, so it seemed. However, she had not destroyed all of knowledge, for life is the creator of knowledge; still, the world was alive and, though we were gone, Earth began to rush again. Wild bounded forth and the plants spread through growth, twisting a choke hold around all that had crumbled and all that had returned to the beauty of before.

Because, Rosalie could restore all the world's beauty with the potion of emotion she swirled within her heart; she could speak the language of old, where the gaze of the eye and the hum of the nature were the true convictions of her love - not the empty organization of syllables all else claimed was love.

And Emelía wanted to pluck each flower of music's garden and show Rosalie the beauty she had played.

Emelía yearned to set alight a candle flame and burn her own lips, just to Show Rosalie she understood her magic.

Emelía crooned to show Rosalie the beauty she was, and drink the tears of passion she had brewed with her music.

Emelía wished to love this glorious Queen, who could create such a something that it had gained nothing for a title!

Even though, this girl could be so dismal in speech, Emelía wanted to love Rosalie; each day, as her eyes feasted upon the glory she tossed into the air, Emelía saw so much more - Rosalie had lay her dreams and her emotions right before Emelía's eyes, and she knew, oh!, she knew she could understand her!

However: music is never as gorgeous caught inside a recorded box, and neither is a passionate girl, caught between a stifled lovers arms.


End file.
